


Sweet Conciliation

by SilverLynxx



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Lots of dialogue, M/M, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: The tent is silent, and it’s suffocating under the weight of their stares. Barnum doesn’t have his showmanship to fall back on, or the lure of beguiling words; they had been the cause of it all in the first place.





	Sweet Conciliation

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> **Unedited**  
> 
> 
>   
>  A request made by [@MellonDrops](https://mellondrops.tumblr.com/) who asked for Barnum returning to the circus, realising he effectively abandoned his circus family, and begs for their forgiveness while being 100% genuine.
> 
> I deviated slightly, so it's set a short time after they move to the new tent. Sorry for being unable to resist shoe-horning barlyle in there as well!  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [Read On Tumblr](http://silverlynxx.tumblr.com/post/170474743860/sweet-conciliation)  
> 

Barnum winds his way through the working class streets of New York, empty at this hour save for the scant few souls opening their shops for the morning rush.

He glances up at the bleak sky, a solid wall of silver clouds promising rain. Barnum smiles regardless, feeling good on this particular morning as he makes his way to the circus tent. His smile grows as the tent begins to peek over the houses, until he nears the docks and it stands against the grey backdrop in all its brilliance.

He picks up his pace until he’s trotting into the tent, the fresh air replaced with the scent of sand and canvas. He sees there’s already activity; performers clustered in light discussion, Anne already up on her hoop in warm-up positions.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greets on his way past some of the dancers.

“Mr Barnum,” they chime shortly in response.

“W.D.” he nods, receiving the briefest acknowledgement back from the man. Barnum’s pace through the tent slows, his smile beginning to lag as he receives several more similar exchanges.

Near the open flap to the backstage, he spots Charles sat on a barrel speaking with a familiar, heavily tattooed figure. “Ah, Charles, Constantine!” Barnum beams, “Fantastic to see you here so early.”

Charles snorts lightly, “Yeah I bet,” he mutters under his breath, Constantine’s beard twitching with his smile. They offer Barnum a small wave as the ringmaster passes them.    

In the seclusion of the backstage area Barnum let’s his smile drop as he looks back into the tent; he can hear the conversation picking back up again, filling the tent with lively chatter.

Barnum removes his hat, fidgeting with the brim. He glances up when movement catches his eye, spying Phillip wandering down the stairs from their office, reading some documents as he goes. Barnum’s hopes lift, his smile returning.

“Did you even go home, Phillip?” he teases.

“P.T.” Phillip hums distractedly back in greeting, eyes never leaving the page. Phillip makes it to the bottom of the stairs before Barnum snaps. He puts a strong hand on the younger man’s shoulder and turns him sharply.

“Ok, what’s going on, Phillip?” he demands.

“What? P.T. Christ, let me go!” he pushes the man’s hand away. Barnum exhales sharply, trying to reign in his irritation and the worry that feeds it. Brush-offs from the performers he could stomach to some extent, but a similar indifference from Phillip put the ringmaster on edge.

“What’s going on?” he demands again, ignoring Phillip’s cautious glances to the main tent. “I’ve been walking around like a leper for weeks, what have I done?”

Understanding dawns on Phillip’s face, and he gives a wry laugh. “Come on, not here,” he catches Barnum’s arm and pulls him further into the storage area. It’s only surprise and a marked awareness of Phillip’s hand on his arm that allows him to be led away.

They skirt around a half wall, and Barnum sits sullenly on a wooden crate while waiting for Phillip to gather his thoughts.

“P.T. Let’s say you come across a stray dog; unwanted and half-starved. What do you suppose happens when you give it a scratch behind the ear and a scrap of food from your pocket?”

Barnum looks at Phillip strangely, caught off guard by the question. “You get fleas?” he grins, just relieved to have the man speaking with him.

His humour dwindles when Phillip frowns at him without his usual faux-annoyance. Apparently the man was expecting a serious answer to his curious scenario.

Barnum shrugs awkwardly. “It comes back for more?” he guesses.

“Yes. It comes back.” Phillip agrees. “For the first time in God knows how long it has been shown the smallest shred of kindness. So the dog starts to trust, completely and wholeheartedly, in that one person.”

Barnum lowers his gaze, an uncomfortable weight settling in his stomach. He doesn’t miss the hard edge Phillip’s voice takes.

“Now, let’s assume the dog comes up to you one day while you’re standing with your upper class darlings. Embarrassed, you _kick_ the dog.” Phillip’s stare is heavy, and Barnum can’t meet his eye. “What do you think happens then, P.T?”

“Ok, I get it,” Barnum snipes, cowed immediately after by Phillip’s disappointed look. “I’m sorry, Phillip. I didn’t mean…” he sighs, rubbing his face. “They’re upset with me. How do I fix it?”

Phillip shrugs, looking at least slightly more sympathetic.

“You disrespected us, Mr Barnum,” both their heads snap up at Anne’s voice. The young woman approaches them at a leisurely sway, unwinding the chalky cloth from her hands.

She smiles at Phillip, and the fondness with which he greets her – gently squeezing her to his side in a one-armed hug – makes Barnum’s stomach twist more fiercely.

“I did,” Barnum agrees readily. “I was reckless…with the circus and everyone in it…” He trails off as if speaking to himself.

Pressing his hand to his mouth, his eyes dart left and right with his thoughts. Barnum’s expression turns pained as every demeaning remark and dismissal floods to the forefront of his mind all at once; _sideshow novelty_ , god.

“I’m sorry,” he winces. “I…I hadn’t realised…”

“We aren’t stupid, Mr Barnum. We know this circus wasn’t started purely out of the goodness of your heart. We had just hoped it would start to mean more to you, like it did for us.” Anne stands tall before the ringmaster, her words firm and unapologetic. There’s no anger, not even a note of accusation; he can’t help but think it would be more bearable if there was.

“Anne…I’m really-“

“It’s not me who needs your apology,” she interjects, “There’s a whole circus out there that trusted you.” She looks from Barnum staring miserably at his boots to Phillip, and with a small nod she takes her leave.

As her footsteps fade, Barnum finally looks up; trying to convince himself he’s not seeking reassurance. His stomach sinks when he finds Phillip looking back, the weight of his disappointment crushing what little remained of the ringmaster.

With a sigh Phillip follows Anne, leaving Barnum with his thoughts.

~**~**~**~

“ _-the barricades, reaching for the sun-“_

“Lettie?” Barnum’s voice gently cuts through the singing.

“I’m decent, hun,” the woman calls from behind the curtain. Barnum slips past the gold cloth to Lettie’s private space, sparsely but personally decorated with swathes of colour and ornamental items. He finds the woman sat at her dresser in front of the mirror, combing the errant strands of her beard.

Barnum clears his throat. “May I speak with you?”

“Well this must be serious,” she observes, putting down her comb and making a point of facing the man. “You have my undivided attention.”

Barnum steps up to the dresser and crouches down to face the woman, taking off his hat as he does so. His recycled words ‘ _They don’t know it yet, but they are going to love you’_ make his mouth sour.

“Lettie,” he starts quietly, leaning forward in earnest. “I owe many good people an apology, for how I acted and how I treated them, but you first and foremost. You allowed yourself to trust in me, you put your safety, and your _hopes,_ in my hands.” He can feel the shame welling in his throat.  “I didn’t respect them as I should have, and I didn’t respect _you_. I put everything at risk. I don’t know how I can possibly apologise…”

“For Christ’s sake, Barnum,” Lettie says fondly, dabbing her eyes with a scrap of fabric. “Of course I forgive you, come here,” he smiles for the first time as he’s pulled tight to her bosom, bent at an awkward angle that has them both laughing. “It just means more to actually have you say it,” she says quietly into the little space between them when the laughter fades.

Placing tender hands on Lettie’s shoulders, he eases himself out of her grip and looks down at her fondly. “You are without a doubt one of the finest women I have ever met, and I wonder every day how I was fortunate enough to find you.”

“I wonder that myself,” she laughs, swatting at his arm. “You’re sweet talking me now, Barnum. What are you after?” she smirks.

Barnum tips his head in appreciation of her acuity, “I would like everyone in the main tent, two o’clock. I have a great deal to atone for.”

“Consider it done,” she assures, “Now go!”

The ringmaster slips back through the curtain as she shoos him away.

“- _We'll be the light that's shining. Bottle up_ _and keep-_ ”

He wanders away from Lettie’s quiet tones.

~**~**~**~

Barnum adjusts his jacket for the third time before ultimately removing it, leaving him in his waistcoat and white shirt. He sets his cane and top hat aside on a nearby shelf before glimpsing into the ring; performers fill a portion of the stands, their chatter building to a quiet rumble.

It unnerves Barnum more than their largest audience ever has.

“Alright, hun, show time,” Lettie says as she passes. She flashes him a smile before she’s gone, assembling with the others.

Barnum breathes deeply to settle his nerves; he’s not even sure what he wants to say, let alone how he intends to say it. Were they even inclined to accept an apology from him?

“You got this,” Barnum murmurs, straightening his tie for the final time before stepping into the tent. The chatter hushes on his approach. He scans the crowd, all the performers clustered together; Anne and W.D close to the centre, framed by the black dancers and albino triplets. Despite sitting, O’Clancy still towers over everyone at the edge of the group, with the Lord of Leeds and Fedor the dog-boy seated nearby. Constantine makes room for Lettie to sit, and Charles settles himself on the lowest row of seats between Frank and Petre, the elephant skinned man. Finally Deng Yan sits towards the top, flanked by Chang and Eng, and the Strong Man, Dmitry.

Barnum glances away, finally spotting Phillip separate from the group, leaning unobtrusively against a support column. The man’s presence somehow manages to both ease Barnum’s tension and knot his stomach further.

He forces his attention back to the crowd, coming to a stop before them and clearing his throat.

“Thank you, all of you, for being here. I understand many of you were intending to rehearse today, so I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

The performers share interested glances, sensing the gravity of the conversation before Barnum even has a chance to address it. He can spy Lettie smiling encouragingly from the stands, and even Anne dips her head in assurance.

“I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you all that I have a reputation for embellishment that precedes me, and my credibility is…questionable at best.” Barnum pauses to accommodate the various scoffs and snorts; his smile shrinks a fraction as he presses on. “And…I realise it’s through my own actions that this reputation has taken root, even in those I care for most. I want to correct it, all of it.”

The tent is silent, and it’s suffocating under the weight of their stares. Barnum doesn’t have his showmanship to fall back on, or the lure of beguiling words; they had been the cause of it all in the first place.

He realises then that he has to strip away everything, every mask and protective layer he has ever constructed, to provide them the honesty they needed to hear, that he should have given them from the beginning.

It’s a frightening state of vulnerability and he’s not ready, not strong enough to be that exposed. Desperately Barnum locks eyes with Phillip and he freezes, feeling his chest flutter oddly at the way the man is watching him, his gaze brimming with _pride_.

It sparks something and fills Barnum like a fire, warming the chill from his skin and smouldering his panic. He breathes deeply, holding Phillip’s stare until he feels steady enough to look back at the performers.

“When this all started, everyone had something to gain. We were all working towards the same goals; stability, acceptance, happiness…” he ticks each one off on his fingers with a wistful smile. “And we found them. This circus became home, and you all became family.”

Murmurs of agreement rise up. They look at each other fondly, patting shoulders and linking arms as if Barnum’s very words were binding them more tightly together.

“I owe an apology I don’t think I’m capable of giving. I was too busy looking up, too hungry for more, that I overlooked everyone who stood with me, and everyone who remained by my side when it all fell apart. _Inevitably_ fell apart, as I was frequently told, I might add.”

He smiles at the quiet chuckles, desperately latching on to them to keep his nerve. “Of course, my mistakes were not without consequence.”

He can sense the shift, the sympathy. The separation of Phineas and Charity Barnum had been rivalled for the newpapers’ attention only by the rebirth of the circus those many months ago.   

“I was careless not only with what we had built together, but with each and every one of you as individuals. I don’t believe there’s anything I can say that could possibly excuse my actions, only that I am truly sorry, and I hope there will be a time I can be forgiven.” The last words take effort, so heavy with emotion and sincerity they stick in his throat.

As he blinks wetly, Barnum’s relieved to see the emotions are mutual as people smile with equally glossy eyes, some wiping away tears.

“Well, you still have a way with words, Barnum,” Charles pipes up, his snark softened by the loud sniff that follows, inciting watery laughter from the group.

Emboldened, Barnum gestures to his partner, “Phillip, come here.”

He catches the man by surprise. Glancing awkwardly at the audience, Phillip takes his spot at the ringmaster’s side, trying to subtly wipe the moisture from his eyes.

“I also never thanked you,” Barnum declares, some of his familiar exuberance trickling back.

“For a great many things, is there something in particular you’re referring to?” Phillip shoots back with a lopsided grin.

“I had to make a lot of decisions to get where I did, some good, some bad; hiring you was the last good decision I made for this circus in a string of poor ones. But _you_ were the best decision I made out of all of them.”

Phillip falters at the magnitude of the man’s words and the candour with which he says them, stealing any coherent reply he could possibly claw together.

“P.T, I-”

“You gave up _everything_ , everything you had ever known. And when I got blinded by the fame and the lights, and _abandoned_ it all, you fought to keep it all going. You fought for them,” he gestures to the troupe who watches the exchange with rapt attention. “You gave them the respect and loyalty I should have from the very beginning. You were the ringmaster they needed.”

“No, you were the ringmaster they needed; I just tried to be,” Phillip says softly. Barnum’s heart flutters at the shy smile.  

“Kiss him already!” Anne shouts from the stands, hands cupped to her mouth. Phillip jerks to gape at her, eyes wide and panicked.

Rapidly glancing between the two, Barnum makes his decision and moves before Phillip’s flight response can kick in. Hooking a hand on Phillip’s neck, he tugs the younger man towards him and seals their lips together to the din of a whooping crowd.

Barnum sighs into the kiss when he feels the hesitant response, Phillip softening beneath his touch as the tension drains away. His hands move of their own accord to cup Phillip’s face, angling him for a deeper kiss.

Dazed and breathless, Phillip eventually manages to break them apart. “Still genuine?” he breathes.

“Never more so,” Barnum confirms, “Although, this might now take precedence as the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Phillip smacks his shoulder, red faced when Barnum’s own laughter is joined by the raucous amusement of the troupe.

Barnum turns boldly to the performers, buoyed by the smiles and affection on the faces staring back, “Is there a chance I can be forgiven?”

W.D. gets in before anyone else can. “Kiss him like that again, then we’ll talk!” he hoots to uproarious laughter.

Phillip rolls his eyes at the teasing, but tilts his head up in ready acceptance as he’s swept into another impassioned kiss.

They had forgiven Barnum long ago, but reconciliations were always sweeter.


End file.
